The Unforeseen Consequences Affair
Part 1 – Blind Sided
-------------------
"I don't like this," commented Illya Kuryakin softly, from his position by the door, which was opened just a crack.
His partner Napoleon Solo didn't even glance up from where he was crouched on the floor, picking the lock on a filing cabinet. "What don't you like?" he asked absently as he concentrated on his task.
Illya glanced briefly at him before restoring his attention to the corridor outside the room. "This whole business…something just doesn't 'feel' right."
Napoleon had learned through experience to trust his partner's instincts for danger. He paused in his task and looked over at him. "Anything in particular? I mean, so far this 'information retrieval' has been a piece of cake."
"That is what's bothering me," said Illya, slowly. "There were only two guards on duty outside…hardly any security system worth talking about…and this information that we are seeking is stored in an ordinary cabinet with locks so easy that a child could pick them."
Napoleon considered Illya's words only briefly before replying, "So? You would have preferred it if we'd had to fight our way in past an army, dodging laser beams and vicious guard dogs while being shot at every inch of the way?"
Illya shrugged. "It would have been more…familiar."
Napoleon shook his head in amusement. "You know what your trouble is?" he asked with a wry smile.
"No, but I am sure you are going to tell me."
"You *like* it when things are difficult," said Napoleon as he resumed his efforts at picking the lock. "You see it as a challenge. Haven't you ever heard the expression of looking a gift horse in the mouth?" He heard a click as the final tumblers shifted into place. Looking over at Illya, he smiled, "You see? Sometimes things *can* be easy."
Illya was frowning as he glanced at the cabinet…there was something just not right about the way this assignment had gone so smoothly. But maybe Napoleon was right…maybe he *did* just like a challenge. He watched as his partner carefully pulled at the drawer…and then in the silence, they both heard an audible click.
"It's a trap," yelled Illya, moving even as he spoke. "Get back!"
People often said that in the instant before facing death, your whole life flashed before your eyes. Well Napoleon had faced death on so many occasions that if that were true, he'd have known exactly when and where to concentrate on the good parts. He had always had the sensation of time slowing down…and now was no exception. He heard the click resounding through his brain even as he realized that his partner was right and that they had walked right into a trap. He caught a mere glimpse of a wire that must have armed the trap even as he tried to raise his hands in front of him in a futile attempt to shield himself from the explosive force that he *knew* was going impact on him in mere seconds.
To his surprise, the anticipated force didn't come from in front of him, but from the side…knocking him clear of the blast that echoed round the room. He instinctively curled up into a ball in an effort to protect himself from the debris that was hurled across the room. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the noise subsided.
Napoleon carefully rolled onto his hands and knees. The filing cabinet…or rather, the remains of it were smoldering only a few feet away from him. He sucked in his breath, realizing just how close he had come *this* time. "Looks like you got me out of the way just in time, Illya," he said, glancing round the room in search of his partner. "How many times does this make it…" His voice died away as he saw Illya crumpled motionless against the far wall. Blood was streaming down the side his face from an ugly looking gash, and when Napoleon reached him a few seconds later; he could see a myriad of tiny cuts on his friend's face.
To his relief, Illya was still breathing, and a quick check revealed no other immediate injuries. Using his handkerchief to try and stem the bleeding from the gash, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and sent an urgent request for immediate back up.
"Hang in there, Illya," he said. "We'll soon be out of here."
-------------------
It was a little longer than 'soon' when reinforcements arrived, but within a few hours, both Napoleon and Illya were in the UNCLE medical facility at headquarters. Napoleon was there under duress, having insisted that he was suffering from nothing more than bruises, and severe embarrassment at having being caught by such a simple trap.
"I seem to remember that on several previous occasions you claimed to have suffered no damage only for the x-rays to prove otherwise," replied Mr. Waverly. "You will remain here until the doctor clears you to leave, and that's an order."
"Yes sir," replied Napoleon gloomily. "But will someone at least tell me how Illya is?" A still unconscious Illya had been whisked away immediately upon there return to headquarters and Napoleon hadn't seen him since.
"Mr. Kuryakin is being treated down the hall," replied Mr. Waverly. "Once the doctor clears you, you may leave, but not before. Is that understood?"
"Yes Sir," replied Napoleon, obediently. He remained compliant only as long as it took Mr. Waverly to leave the area, and then to charm one of the nurses into finding him a set of scrubs to pull on over his aching body.
Looking anxiously into each room as he passed, Napoleon was soon rewarded with the sight of a familiar shock of blond hair. The nurse in the room with him appeared to be cleaning his face. She looked up and smiled at Napoleon as he sauntered through the door and leaned idly against the wall. "You know, when you've finished with my partner there, I believe that I could use some ah, 'personal' attention." He smiled at the nurse.
"You must be Napoleon Solo," said the nurse, blushing slightly.
"I see my reputation precedes me," smiled Napoleon.
Illya cleared his throat, "When you're *quite* finished," he said, pointedly.
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice…an edge that was barely noticeable…and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"
"A few broken ribs…a concussion…cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."
------------------
To be continued.
Ceindreadh
Part 1 – Blind Sided
-------------------
"I don't like this," commented Illya Kuryakin softly, from his position by the door, which was opened just a crack.
His partner Napoleon Solo didn't even glance up from where he was crouched on the floor, picking the lock on a filing cabinet. "What don't you like?" he asked absently as he concentrated on his task.
Illya glanced briefly at him before restoring his attention to the corridor outside the room. "This whole business…something just doesn't 'feel' right."
Napoleon had learned through experience to trust his partner's instincts for danger. He paused in his task and looked over at him. "Anything in particular? I mean, so far this 'information retrieval' has been a piece of cake."
"That is what's bothering me," said Illya, slowly. "There were only two guards on duty outside…hardly any security system worth talking about…and this information that we are seeking is stored in an ordinary cabinet with locks so easy that a child could pick them."
Napoleon considered Illya's words only briefly before replying, "So? You would have preferred it if we'd had to fight our way in past an army, dodging laser beams and vicious guard dogs while being shot at every inch of the way?"
Illya shrugged. "It would have been more…familiar."
Napoleon shook his head in amusement. "You know what your trouble is?" he asked with a wry smile.
"No, but I am sure you are going to tell me."
"You *like* it when things are difficult," said Napoleon as he resumed his efforts at picking the lock. "You see it as a challenge. Haven't you ever heard the expression of looking a gift horse in the mouth?" He heard a click as the final tumblers shifted into place. Looking over at Illya, he smiled, "You see? Sometimes things *can* be easy."
Illya was frowning as he glanced at the cabinet…there was something just not right about the way this assignment had gone so smoothly. But maybe Napoleon was right…maybe he *did* just like a challenge. He watched as his partner carefully pulled at the drawer…and then in the silence, they both heard an audible click.
"It's a trap," yelled Illya, moving even as he spoke. "Get back!"
People often said that in the instant before facing death, your whole life flashed before your eyes. Well Napoleon had faced death on so many occasions that if that were true, he'd have known exactly when and where to concentrate on the good parts. He had always had the sensation of time slowing down…and now was no exception. He heard the click resounding through his brain even as he realized that his partner was right and that they had walked right into a trap. He caught a mere glimpse of a wire that must have armed the trap even as he tried to raise his hands in front of him in a futile attempt to shield himself from the explosive force that he *knew* was going impact on him in mere seconds.
To his surprise, the anticipated force didn't come from in front of him, but from the side…knocking him clear of the blast that echoed round the room. He instinctively curled up into a ball in an effort to protect himself from the debris that was hurled across the room. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the noise subsided.
Napoleon carefully rolled onto his hands and knees. The filing cabinet…or rather, the remains of it were smoldering only a few feet away from him. He sucked in his breath, realizing just how close he had come *this* time. "Looks like you got me out of the way just in time, Illya," he said, glancing round the room in search of his partner. "How many times does this make it…" His voice died away as he saw Illya crumpled motionless against the far wall. Blood was streaming down the side his face from an ugly looking gash, and when Napoleon reached him a few seconds later; he could see a myriad of tiny cuts on his friend's face.
To his relief, Illya was still breathing, and a quick check revealed no other immediate injuries. Using his handkerchief to try and stem the bleeding from the gash, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and sent an urgent request for immediate back up.
"Hang in there, Illya," he said. "We'll soon be out of here."
-------------------
It was a little longer than 'soon' when reinforcements arrived, but within a few hours, both Napoleon and Illya were in the UNCLE medical facility at headquarters. Napoleon was there under duress, having insisted that he was suffering from nothing more than bruises, and severe embarrassment at having being caught by such a simple trap.
"I seem to remember that on several previous occasions you claimed to have suffered no damage only for the x-rays to prove otherwise," replied Mr. Waverly. "You will remain here until the doctor clears you to leave, and that's an order."
"Yes sir," replied Napoleon gloomily. "But will someone at least tell me how Illya is?" A still unconscious Illya had been whisked away immediately upon there return to headquarters and Napoleon hadn't seen him since.
"Mr. Kuryakin is being treated down the hall," replied Mr. Waverly. "Once the doctor clears you, you may leave, but not before. Is that understood?"
"Yes Sir," replied Napoleon, obediently. He remained compliant only as long as it took Mr. Waverly to leave the area, and then to charm one of the nurses into finding him a set of scrubs to pull on over his aching body.
Looking anxiously into each room as he passed, Napoleon was soon rewarded with the sight of a familiar shock of blond hair. The nurse in the room with him appeared to be cleaning his face. She looked up and smiled at Napoleon as he sauntered through the door and leaned idly against the wall. "You know, when you've finished with my partner there, I believe that I could use some ah, 'personal' attention." He smiled at the nurse.
"You must be Napoleon Solo," said the nurse, blushing slightly.
"I see my reputation precedes me," smiled Napoleon.
Illya cleared his throat, "When you're *quite* finished," he said, pointedly.
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice…an edge that was barely noticeable…and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"
"A few broken ribs…a concussion…cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."
------------------
To be continued.
Ceindreadh
